A Strange Duet (formerly A Curious Beginning)
by ADiamondoraButterfly
Summary: Summary: Erik has left his dark past at the opera house behind him. After helping a dying woman, he finds himself entrusted with her orphaned daughter. The plot is shamelessly ripped off of Les Mis, but there are no LM characters in this, so it's not a crossover. First chapter is T, everything else is K. Update: It's finished! Thank you so much for your support! :)
1. Chapter 1

After the events at the opera house, Erik managed to disappear, as he had been obliged to do so many times before. He crept from town to town, traversed Europe. Eventually he settled in Milan, drawn by its music. There he had only two thoughts- to redeem his life if possible, and to conceal his past. To find God… and to escape men.

He felt reasonably safe. Few people outside of France had heard the tale of the opera ghost. Most who did believed it was nothing more than a tale circulated by superstitious stagehands. On the rare occasions when he'd overheard people speaking of it- something that happened less and less as the weeks went on- they'd invariably laughed at the French papers for circulating such a frivolous story.  
Still, he had to be careful. If he was caught, he knew he could expect no mercy. Any jury would take one look at his face and convict him in an instant.

He almost never went out during the day, and it was his habit to vary his route home as much as possible on the occasions when he did venture outside.

It was thus that, one night, he turned down an alley he didn't know and stumbled upon a dreadful spectacle.  
An emaciated woman, clothed in the sort of decolete dress that only a prostitute would wear, was being dragged down the street by a huge man in a loud striped jacket. Another man, fat and oily, was trailing after her with a leer.  
"No!" the woman was wailing. "Don't make me! I've already done all manner of awful things to line your pockets. Have pity!"  
The second man laughed. "And who do you think you are to decide?" He grabbed hold of her as though to strike her.  
The woman's panicked eyes alighted on Erik. "Help me!" she wailed in desperation.  
Erik froze, his heart beating a mad tattoo in his chest. Every fiber of his being cried out to him to intervene. He could overpower the two men, he was sure, even without resorting to violence. They were both out of condition. But if he did they would be sure to report him to the police. Go now, blend back into the darkness, and they might forget him. For the moment, they were too preoccupied with dealing with the woman to take much notice of him.  
Besides, if he freed her from them, what good would it do? He would probably end up dead or in prison, and she would be thrown back to the mercy of the brothels. It would do no good.  
And yet, he could not bring himself to leave the pitiful creature to her fate. Perhaps because there was something in her abject misery that reminded him of his own life.  
As he watched, the fat man spit on the prostitute's face, as if to emphasize his right to do to her whatever he pleased, and then began to beat her savagely. Her spirit was not completely broken yet, however. A look of rage leapt onto her features; she tore free from her captor and leapt at the fat fellow, clawing him in the eyes.  
Though his injuries were nothing compared to what he'd inflicted on her, he let out a cry of pain and rage. "You'll be sorry you ever drew breath, you worthless little whore!" He grabbed her by her scrawny arm, lifted his voice and screamed, "Police!" He turned to the woman with a triumphant, mocking smile. "They won't be impressed to hear that a prostitute has attacked a local magistrate who lost his way home."  
"You liar! You won't get away with this!" the woman cried. "There's a witness! He saw that you struck me first- that you beat a defenseless woman." She turned back to Erik, who had, however, begun to back warily away. "You! Signor, you saw what happened!"  
"Oh, yes, a witness in a mask- a very trustworthy source of information!" The fat man sneered.  
"He's right," Erik pointed out. "I won't do you much good."  
"What do you mean? Just take off that funny mask you're wearing!" the woman said pleadingly. "Show your face!"  
"I can't," Erik said.  
"What do you mean?" she demanded.  
"I'd wager he's been in trouble with the police too." The huge man's eyes lit up and he advanced toward Erik. "Maybe there's a reward for you. It'd be worth hanging on to you until the police come, just to be sure, anyway."  
Erik backed away, feeling like a cornered animal. If he was going to go, it had to be now. Adding to his terror, he could hear police whistles now, seemingly advancing towards them from all sides.  
"I'm wretchedly sorry," he said to the woman. "It's abominable luck that you got stuck with me for a witness of all people."  
"Take that thing off, you coward!" she screamed. "Do your moral duty and help me! I can't go to prison!"  
"They'll only give you a few weeks at most," he said, though with the uncomfortable realization that that may not be true. He'd almost reached a side street and he began to edge down it, melding into the shadows. He was nearly safe.  
"But I have a child!" he heard her wail.  
Erik had a crisis of conscience in the space of five seconds. He had built an honest life, a life where he could be at peace and left alone with his music.  
And who knew what kind of torment he would be subjected to in a prison?  
Besides, he thought again, what could he do to help the woman? Even if he took off the mask- even if by some miracle the police didn't arrest him- no one would believe a witness with a face like his.  
He turned away and ran as he'd never run before. He quickly outstripped the man who'd run after him. He was safe once again.  
But he couldn't seem to escape the woman's cries.

By some horrific coincidence, he saw her again. He was pleased to see they hadn't given her more than a week or so. But the site of her did not encourage him. She was little more than a skeleton, standing on the pavement with the rags of her dress barely covering her. Her eyes were nearly vacant, and she trembled with hunger.  
But when she saw him, her hatred lent her a sudden burst of strength.  
"You!" she cried, lunging toward him. "You coward!"  
He was too ashamed to move away.  
"I should have let the police have you," she said, shoving him backward.  
The effort had cost her. As she staggered toward him, she began a heaving cough that echoed in the alley and shook her whole body. The spasm ended in her spewing blood onto the cobblestones. She sank to her knees.  
The fact that an infection that serious couldn't have developed in the brief time since he'd seen her didn't make Erik feel any less responsible.  
"You need a hospital," he said.  
She laughed, wiping the blood from her chin. "Can't afford a doctor!" she sneered. He saw that most of her teeth were missing. She must have sold them. "Thanks to you. They fined me. I lost all my money. Do you know what I think? I should let the police have you. I could call them right now."  
"You may call them- in which case I shall escape, as I did last time. Or you may let me pay for you to go to a hospital."  
She froze with her hand halfway to her blood-spattered mouth and stared at him.  
"Will you allow me to help you?" he asked.  
"Oh, you want to help me now?" she said. "Why?"  
"I feel partly responsible for your situation."  
"Indeed?" she said with brutal sarcasm.  
"Yes, but also I know what it is to be owned by another. To be used by them for profit. That is why I wish to help you. Will you come with me?"  
She of course thought from the start that it might be a trap. He might be just as much of a villain as the man who'd attacked her a few weeks before. But she had, as she'd already pointed out, nowhere else to go.  
Besides, the state of affairs in her life was so bad that at that point she must have reasoned, 'What more can he do to me?'  
The worst he could do was kill her, and that was no worse than going to jail, which she certainly would if she stayed here.  
"I'll take help if you're offering it," she said.  
"Good. Do you know where a hospital is?" he asked.  
"There's one a few blocks north," she said, indicating the direction. "Via Ugo, I think."  
"Very well." He started in that direction.  
She followed him in silence, too exhausted to be terrified. Only a vague apprehension played at the edges of her conscience.  
When they were a few yards away from the building, her knees buckled and she crashed onto the sidewalk, hard. To Erik's embarrassment, he was obliged to carry her the rest of the way. Her skeletal frame was disturbingly easy to lift, as though she were composed of nothing but the rags that clothed her.  
When he arrived at the hospital, people turned and stared at them. He could understand that reaction to the sight- a man in a mask and cloak, carrying an unconscious woman spattered with blood.  
"This woman needs a bed," he said, trying to maintain a nonchalant air. "I believe she has consumption. I can pay."  
"Who are you?" said a nun who had come forward. "What do you want? We can't let masked strangers into our hospital."  
"Does it matter who I am? You can see she needs help."  
The Sister seemed to agree, and sent for a doctor.  
When the sick woman had been settled, Erik eventually persuaded the sisters to let him see her.  
"You said you had a child," he said.  
"Yes." She almost smiled. "Her name's Euprasia- that's a very elegant name, don't you think, very grand? But I call her Costanza."  
"Is she provided for?" he asked anxiously.  
"She's safe for now, I believe. She lodges with a family in a village called Montefiore. The Tempestas. They haven't turned her out so far. But they're threatening to, because I owe them a fortune. She's been sick, you see. My poor little dear."  
"It is my fault you were in prison and unable to pay your debt," he said. "I shall settle it for you."  
She stared at him. "It can't be."  
"I assure you, it shall be done."  
"Signor!"  
"As soon as you are well, I shall arrange for you to go to your child. I shall see that you are provided for. You will be honest and happy once more."  
She looked almost delirious with happiness. "Can it be that I will see my Costanza soon? After not seeing her for so many years? Perhaps I was wrong where you were concerned. There are a few decent souls left in this world."  
Having obtained the Tempesta family's address, Erik left feeling that he had done his duty by her. The rest of his promise to her- to provide her with money and arrange for her to go to Costanza- could be arranged through correspondence. He was quite sure the woman would never want to set eyes on him again. And if so, he was more than happy to keep it that way- the less she knew about him the better.  
When he stopped by the hospital a few days later to inquire after all, however, he was told that she'd asked for him.  
"You have done so much for me," she said. "But I have one more favor to ask. I desperately need to see my daughter. Please, would you bring her to me? It is only two days' journey."  
The world had hardened Erik. His goodness, such as it was, had its limits. He had no intention of agreeing to this request. Milan was the only place he felt safe. He feared being caught by the police if he ventured out into the open.  
"Wouldn't it make more sense to see her when you're better?" he pointed out. "Perhaps you could even go get her yourself. She'd like that better than being fetched away by some strange man in a mask. She might even refuse to come with me."  
She swallowed. "I'm not going to get better," she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the sheet in front of her.  
"What?"  
"I didn't want to tell you this." Still not looking at him, she began to weep silently. "The doctor said I won't live for another week. Please."  
"I am grievously sorry." At length Erik added, "I would be happy to send someone to fetch Costanza."  
"No. I don't trust anyone else to look after a child who no one cares for." Her face grew even more pitiful. "Please do this for me. If you were dying, wouldn't you want one more chance to glimpse the one creature on earth you loved- the only spot of brightness and goodness in your life- especially if your existence had been as miserable as mine?"  
It was as though the woman had seen into his very soul.

"You already ran away once," she said. "Don't run away again."  
Without waiting for his reply, the woman called over a nurse and dictated a note to the Tempestas, saying how she was entrusting her little Costanza to this kind man named Erik, and signed unsteadily with her name, Epifania Toloni- the only thing she knew how to write.  
Erik set off that evening- though he spent the first fifteen minutes of the journey cursing the pitiful woman under his breath.

 _End of Chapter 1._


	2. Chapter 2

Erik arrived in Montefiore the next evening and deposited his scant baggage in the hotel suite he'd reserved. He'd chosen one with two rooms, on the rather optimistic assumption that he be able to find Costanza and take her away from the Tempestas without issue.  
When he inquired asked at the front desk about the address Epifania had given him, he was told it was two miles outside the town.  
His horses were spent. It would have made more sense to wait til morning. But he'd promised Epifania he would hurry. And he wanted the whole affair over and done with as quickly as possible.  
Thus he found himself walking alone through an obscure patch of woods at midnight.  
He'd been walking in silence for some time when he saw a small figure silhouetted in the moonlight a few yards ahead of him. He slowly moved closer to it, ducking behind trees as he went, taking care to keep out of sight. As he drew closer, he saw that the shape belonged to a little child, clothed in little more than rags, exhaustedly trying to carry a bucket as big as she was.  
It was impossible to imagine a less threatening sight. He came out from behind the trees and resumed the path, soon catching up to her. "Good evening."  
"H-hello." She was surprised by his appearance, but so glad not to be alone in the dark, cold woods that it didn't occur to her to be afraid of him. In addition, she hadn't noticed his mask, as most of her energy was concentrated on the task of moving the bucket. He saw that it was full of water. It must have weighed as much as she did.  
"That's much too heavy for you," he said. "Let me help you." He took the handle and pulled it, firmly but not fiercely, away from her.  
"No! Please give it back!" she cried pitifully, pulling at his arm. "Signor will kill me if I don't bring it back!"  
"I'm not stealing your water, you foolish imp; I'm carrying it for you. I was going to ask which way you need to go with it."  
No one had offered to do anything like that that for the girl in as long as she could remember. For a moment, she stared at him in disbelief. But seeing that he wasn't about to give her bucket back, she had no choice but to hope for the best. She mutely pointed in the right direction, toward a clump of lights several hundred yards distant.  
He began to walk the way she'd indicated with brisk strides, with her trotting anxiously after him.  
"Who sent you out into the woods at this hour with such a heavy bucket?" he asked at length.  
"Signor Tempesta."  
He ground his teeth. "So the place we're going- it's the Tempestas' tavern?"  
"Yes." She didn't think to question how he was familiar with the small, unremarkable establishment. The Tempestas' miserable tavern constituted the entirety of her existence. It didn't occur to her that anyone might not have heard of it.  
"Ah, good," he said. "That's where I need to go as well. Do you live there, then?"  
She looked as though she didn't understand the question. "Signora Tempesta lets me sleep in the stable behind it."  
"In the stable? Charming." He paused, then remarked abruptly:— "So I take it you have no parents to look after you, then?"  
"I don't think so," she said. "I don't remember ever having any."  
"May I ask what is your name?"  
She didn't say anything.  
By now they'd come within a few yards of the inn.  
"I'm looking for Costanza Toloni," he tried again. "Do you know her?"  
She jumped.  
"Costanza!" a voice suddenly shrieked from within.  
The child cowered like she'd been beaten."I am coming, Signora!" she cried reflexively, walking even faster.  
Erik stared at the little girl in disbelief. The age was right, but how could this be the Costanza, who the family had sworn they were looking after? She did bear some faint resemblance to Epifania, now that he thought about it. They both had blonde hair and large, sad eyes. But it was obvious she had never been to see a doctor in her life. He wasn't even sure she ate every day. Her condition was barely better than her mother's.  
So all Epifania Toloni's unspeakable sacrifices had been for nothing. Rage coursed through him.  
Angry footsteps approached the inn door.  
Costanza timidly touched his arm. "Signor?"  
"What?"  
"May I take my bucket now?" she whispered, speaking quickly.  
"Why?"  
"If Signor sees that some one has carried it for me, he'll beat me."  
"I understand perfectly," Erik said darkly. He swiftly handed her the bucket, and she smiled gratefully.  
An instant later the tavern door opened. A fat man, who Erik took to be Signor Tempesta, appeared in the doorway. The smell of sour ale and the sound of raucous tavern singing oozed out after him, along with the oily light of lamps that needed cleaning.  
"Ah!" he sneered, catching sight of Costanza. "So you've decided to come back at last, eh? You've taken your time!"  
She timidly handed held the bucket. When he'd snatched it away, without a word of thanks, she edged toward Erik, hiding a little behind the edge of his cloak.  
"Signor," she said timidly, "There's a gentleman come to the inn."  
"You are the proprietor?" Erik said.  
"Yes." Tempesta looked him up and down. "But we don't have any vacancies," he said decisively.  
"Indeed". Erik glanced toward a sign on the door. In large letters it proclaimed "Rooms available."  
Tempesta followed his gaze. "Forgot to take that down," he lied sheepishly.  
"I don't need a room. I simply have a business matter to discuss with you, Signor, and then I hope I can be on my way," Erik said.  
"Well, I run a respectable establishment here. I'm not going to let some masked stranger into my inn."

Costanza looked up at Erik for the first time. The mask didn't seem to frighten her. Her countenance expressed only a mild interest, dampened by her exhaustion.

"You can take this little 'business matter' of yours elsewhere," Tempesta said.  
"I am here to pay a bill someone sent you," Erik said.  
At the word 'bill', the man's entire demeanor changed so entirely that Erik almost smiled. "Come inside, my dear Signor!" he said effusively.  
He sent Costanza away with a swift kick. Erik frowned- he had hoped to talk to her further- but she'd soon disappeared. He could only wait and hope he would reemerge. Thenardier ushered him through the door into a dirty public room and them whisked him into a kind of office, gesturing effusively for him to sit.  
Erik uneasily lowered himself onto a hard wooden bench.  
Tempesta snapped his fingers in the air, and to Erik's relief, Costanza materialized again. She was carrying a tray with two mugs of ale, which she set down on Tempesta's desk.  
"Thank you," Erik said.

"Get some bread, too," Tempesta said.

"But it's late at night. She should be going to sleep."

"She hasn't earned it."

"Does she work all day long?"  
"Not enough," Tempesta snorted.  
"Do you know how to read?" Erik said, still trying to speak to Costanza, who, however, seemed incapable of making a sound unless Tempesta spoke to her first.  
"Why should she need to?" Tempesta said. "It would just be a waste of time."  
"I take it she doesn't have very much time to play?" Erik asked.  
"She doesn't have time to loaf about, if that's what you mean. Discipline is the word."  
"I see," Erik said darkly. "Signor, how much does she earn for you in an evening? It can't be more than ten lira, surely."  
"I wish she'd earn ten lira," the innkeeper muttered sourly, stifling a belch.  
"Very well. Then if I give you that much, will you let her have the evening off?" Erik asked. "To play, or rest, or do as she pleases?" If he succeeded in extracting her from this place, he wanted her to be well-rested, not exhausted, for the journey the next day.  
"What are you, Babbo Natale?" Tempesta sneered. Still, even if he didn't want to admit it, he was too scared of Erik to risk upsetting him. "Yes, I suppose it doesn't make any difference to me."  
"Thank you. How generous of you." Erik handed him ten lira.  
Tempesta turned to Costanza, who was staring at Erik, paralyzed with astonishment. "Go on!" the innkeeper said irritably. "You heard this… er… kind gentleman. Now, off with you! Get out of my hair!"  
"Just one moment, if you don't mind," Erik said. From the depths of his cloak he produced a gift he'd bought the previous day, wrapped up in a bright box. "Someone asked me to bring you this," he said, holding it out to Costanza.  
If possible, she stood even stiller than before. Her look was one of utter bewilderment. It was obvious no one had ever given her anything before.  
"It's a gift," Erik said patiently. "There's a stuffed rabbit, rather the sort of thing I wished I had when I was a child. And a coat. And some books. I know you can't read them yet, but perhaps someday you'll get the chance."  
Costanza reached into the box. When she saw the rabbit, her heart flowed out to it. She drew it into her arms and began cradling it blissfully.  
For the first time in months, Erik almost smiled.  
"Time to read," Tempesta muttered to himself with a sneer. "Over my grave. That mind of hers is strange enough already."  
This time when he sent Costanza away, Erik did not stop him. The little girl drifted out of the room, the books and coat held carefully in one arm, the rabbit still cradled tenderly in the other. She looked at Erik over her shoulder as she left.  
When she'd gone, Tempesta slammed his office door.  
"What do you want with my serving girl, anyway?" he said, irate. "You must be some sort of madman. And what about this bill you promised to pay?"  
"The explanation is simple," Erik said. "I thought you would have guessed. I am here on behalf of Costanza's mother."  
Tempesta's expression changed. _So some idiot's taken a fancy to the mother_! he thought. I _suppose he hides his face because he doesn't want to avoid a scandal. Probably married or something. Or perhaps… perhaps he's a government official! Yes, it's probably that. He must be rich. Now that I look at his clothes in the light, they're actually quite nice. This is a windfall! If the flirtation lasts awhile, I daresay I'll be able to get a lot of money out of this fellow over the next few years. Damn, I should have offered him the good wine, not just ale._  
He was about to call Costanza back when Erik spoke again.  
"If I am going to pay for the… er… care she has received here, I want to ensure she has been well taken care of before you part ways," Erik said.  
"P - part ways?" Tempesta sputtered, his vision of piles of money evaporating.  
Erik produced the letter Epifania had written the other evening, and wordlessly pushed it across the table to him.

"What's this?" Tempesta said, perusing it.  
' _I ask you to entrust my child Costanza to this man, Erik, who has been good enough to assist me. He is to settle my accounts and bring her to me_.'  
It had the stamp of an official document.  
At first, Tempesta regarded the note with an annoyed expression. But when he saw the words 'all expenses', his eyes lit up. He'd smelled an opportunity. Immediately he began racking up in his head a list of things he could bill for. He might well be able to get more from this fellow all at once than he had been able to get from years of sending bills to Epifania by letter.  
Here is the masterpiece he came up with:  
Clothes (he included his daughters' clothes in the sum)  
Food, of course (twice as much as Costanza had eaten in her life)  
Medicines (Costanza, to his knowledge, had never been ill, and if she had, they had certainly never taken her to a doctor. But this fellow didn't need to know that.)  
He added the total up in his head.  
"She said she owes you a month's fees," Erik said.  
Tempesta met his gaze. "She's fleecing us. She owes us four months' fees if she owes a sou. Of course, this... er... precious girl is worth every bit of what my dear wife and I pay to take care of her. We hate to part with her. But medicines are expensive-"  
"-You're mad," Erik said. "I'll give you half that."  
But he paid that much- it amounted to more than a year's wages- on the spot, and in cash. Tempesta could hardly believe his luck. _He really is willing to pay an awful lot to avoid trouble._

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

"Are we to hand over this innocent child to some man who will not even show his face?" he said. "Why not let us see what you look like? An honest man would not hide behind a mask."  
Erik understood the threat. He slid another wad of money across the table. "You will not see my face. Have I made myself clear?"  
Tempesta smiled. "But sir, but she is like my own child, and one does not give away one's child to a passer-by, just like that. I am deeply fond of Cosima."  
"Do you perhaps mean Costanza?"  
"Yes, just as you say. Dear Costanza is like my own child!" Tempesta said expansively. "One cannot merely hand her over to an anonymous stranger. I should like to know with whom she is living, so that we may know that her foster-father is alive, that he is watching over her. One must, at least, see some petty scrap of paper, some trifle in the way of a… passport, you know! Some form of… identification, perhaps?"  
"I have no passport. Signor Tempesta, you will not know my name, you will not know my residence. And you certainly shall never see my face." Erik surveyed him with a look that Thenardier felt penetrated to the very depth of his conscience. "Does that suit you? Yes or no?"  
So it's true, Tempesta thought. He'd be willing to do anything to keep his secret.  
"So, just to be clear, you don't want anyone to know who you are, eh?" he said. "You must be willing to go to great lengths to make sure no one tells anyone anything about you, or where you've been or what you've been doing."

 _To be continued_ Erik's mind was whirling. He was trapped.

Only one thought occurred to him: He had to flee. He was sorry to leave Costanza behind. He pitied the child. He even liked her- and he didn't like anyone. But he would be of no use to her if he was in prison or dead.

"I will not be spoken to in this manner," he said. "Good evening, Signor."

And he started to walk toward the door, doing his best to seem composed.

The door shut behind him.

Tempesta realized with alarm that his strategy to extort the stranger further wasn't working anymore. He was on the verge of losing a potentially valuable asset. In fact, he probably already had, judging by the fit of temper the man had just shown.

Might as well get what money from him that he still could, and be done with it.

He snatched his gun out of the drawer of his desk and pursued him out into the darkness beyond the inn.

The masked stranger walked swiftly. He'd passed nearly all the outbuildings associated with the inn. Only the barn where Costanza slept, furthest and coldest, remained.

Tempesta silently caught up with him, pondering his next words. He'd planned to simply say 'I have a gun', but found he was too embarrassed to.

"Stop and turn around, Signor," he said instead. "You'll be glad you did."

Erik stopped. "I suppose you're threatening me with a weapon?" he said tiredly.  
"Yes. That is the general idea, I suppose. Do you have more money to give me?"

Erik turned around.

"Signor," he said, "You begin to try my patience."

He leapt toward Tempesta, swift as a panther. With one sharp movement, so sudden that the innkeeper barely understood what was happening, he knocked the gun from his hand, sending it flying across the yard. It landed in an impenetrable puddle of darkness.

Suddenly unarmed and helpless, Tempesta stared at him, dumbstruck with terror.

"I assure you, I can do worse than that," Erik said, towering over him. "Now, I understand that the child lives in that barn over there. Go and fetch her for me."  
"You won't get away with this nonsense," Tempesta said, though he was already walking toward the barn. "When you have gone, I will tell the police you have kidnapped her."

"Then I will show them the letter from her mother, and you will be charged with perjury- not to mention extortion. Do not toy with me, Signor."

Tempesta went into the barn. He found Costanza huddled sleeping in a corner, her stuffed rabbit still clutched in her arms. He pelted her with a dirty rag.

"Come on, brat," he said. "You're going with this masked lunatic. You'll be a perfect pair, the two of you."

Costanza sleepily sat up. As his words sank in, however, her eyes opened wide, and she leapt to her feet. "I'm leaving?"  
"Yes. I'm sick of you. You're far more trouble than you're worth."

It took Costanza a matter of seconds to gather up her few ragged belongings.

Tempesta booted her out the door, slammed it shut again, and stormed back toward the inn.

"You can both go to hell!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Costanza stuck her tongue out at his retreating figure. Her heart was suddenly as light as a butterfly. She couldn't believe what had happened. She would never have to see that horrible man- or his horrible wife- again.  
"Where did you come from?" she cried. "Why are you being kind to me? How did you find me? Did my Mama really send you?"  
Erik realized she'd been eavesdropping. He smiled. "Yes. My name is Erik. Your mother told me where to find you and asked me to collect you from here."  
As proof of what he'd told her, he showed her the letter, though he felt sure no one had ever taught her to read.  
The letter was good enough as far as Costanza was concerned. It was not that she was gullible. She was certainly not naive- she'd seen far too much in her short life for that. It was just that, like her mother a few days before, she felt nothing could be worse than the situation she was already in.  
She didn't know who she was going away with, or where, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that she was leaving the Tempestas- the one thing she had dreamed about for years. Her prayers had been answered. A kindhearted savior had materialized out of the night in an almost magical way to rescue her. And she was leaving that hated and hating house. Anywhere and anyone else would be better.  
No one bid her farewell, and she didn't have anyone to say goodbye to.  
She turned away without hesitation.

Never once did she look back.

 _End of Chapter 2._


	3. Chapter 3

They walked for a long time before either of them spoke. Occasionally Costanza would glance up at him in wonderment, as though he were a saint. She was no longer alone. That thought filled her mind. For the first time in her life, there was someone there beside her.  
"Can I ask a question?" she asked at last.  
"I cannot stop you from asking. Whether I will choose to answer, however, is another story."  
"Oh," she said.

"What did you want to ask?" he prodded.

"Are you God?" she asked, quite disarmingly.  
He laughed. "Not remotely."  
"Oh," she said again.  
"Where did you get such a notion?" he asked.  
"The priest said people die if they see the face of God," she explained. "So I thought maybe that's why you hide your face."  
"Ah." _Well, if people saw my face, they might die of fright!_ "I suppose your reasoning is sound, as far as it goes. But there are other reasons people wear masks."  
"Why do you wear one?"  
"It is not your concern," he said.  
"You're not a thief, are you?'  
"No." He decided it was acceptable to say that. After all, it had been years since he'd stolen anything.

"Good," she said. "I didn't think you were. Thieves are bad. And you're kind."  
When they reached the town, he made only one brief stop, to purchase a sack of bread rolls at a nearby bakery. When he saw a shelf of cakes, on an impulse he bought one for the little girl. When he handed it to her, she gazed at it for several seconds in awe, cradling it in her hands as reverently as though it were made of gold. He guessed she'd never seen such a treat in her life. When she finally ventured to put it to her lips, her face lit up, and she devoured it in a manner that was more reminiscent of a hungry wolf than a child.  
When they arrived at the hotel, the moon was directly overheard, lighting up the street. "This is where we'll be staying tonight," he said. "Tomorrow we'll go to Milan."  
Though the hotel was a relatively modest establishment, Costanza stared wide-eyed at the building as though she'd never seen such luxury. He had to tug her through the door, for she was sure there had been some mistake and they'd come to the wrong place.  
When he stopped at the desk, he found a telegram waiting for him.  
 _Epifania Toloni died on the twenty-first_ , it said rather abruptly.  
He crumpled the note in his hand and plunged it into his pocket.  
"What is it?" Costanza asked.  
"Never mind," Erik said heavily.  
He plodded towards his suite, shock flooding through him. He had no experience delivering bad news to people, and the thought of inadvertently wounding this little child horrified him.  
He waited until they were settled in the suite and she'd finished her meager supper before telling her.  
"Costanza, I'm afraid your Mama has d- has gone to the Holy Virgin," he said simply. "I'm sorry."  
"Oh." Costanza barely reacted to the news. She had no memory of her mother. A part of her almost doubted if she existed. She had never really expected to see her again. Besides, she was happy with this man who had rescued her.  
Erik was not surprised by her indifference. He'd never felt one moment's affection for his own mother and, though he knew most people generally loved their parents to some greater or lesser degree, it seemed natural to him not to. He didn't have the faintest idea what familial tenderness might be like.  
"Where will I go?" Costanza asked at length. "I don't want to go back to the tavern."  
She was all practical. He understood- it wasn't that she didn't have the capacity to be tenderhearted, it was just that she didn't have the luxury of indulging her emotions. Very like him as a child.  
"I shall make sure you are provided for," he said.

"Will I stay with you?" she asked, without any hint of being upset by the idea.

This shocked him so much he nearly staggered. "I shall find a suitable place for you to live," he said at last, trying to maintain his composure.  
This seemed to reassure her. She clambered onto an armchair and curled up comfortably, like a sleepy cat.

Erik had noted by now that she was a girl of few words. As he busied himself preparing a return message to telegraph to the hospital, she sat in silence, as though reflecting to herself. But the main question on her mind had been addressed, and soon fatigue overtook her other concerns. Her head began to droop, and within a few minutes, she was asleep, exhausted by their journey and the change that had taken place in her life.  
Erik abandoned the message for the moment and stood gazing down at her in silence. What in God's name was he going do?

 _Chapter 3 to be continued_

He let her sleep late the next morning. There was no reason to hurry now. After a leisurely breakfast, they began their trip back to Milan.

As they walked to the stable yard for their carriage, Costanza's hand spontaneously shot out and took his. The gesture, the trust it conveyed, shook him to his core.

As they watched the miles roll by, bringing them closer to Milan, Costanza ventured occasional questions. He answered them briefly, but thoughtfully. Slowly, encouraged by his gentleness, she began to speak more and more, until she became quite as talkative as other children her age. He was glad for that. He was too preoccupied to do much talking himself, and her prattle comfortably filled the silence.

Though Erik didn't know it, Costanza was inexpressibly happy. Above all, she was ecstatic to be leaving the Tempestas, but she was also happy to be with him. She loved how he never either shouted or laughed at her, but listened, his eyes grave and kind, to everything she had to say. That was a completely new experience for her.

"Like all children, who resemble young shoots of the vine, which cling to everything", she had tried to love before in her life. It hadn't gone well. Every human being she'd known had recoiled from her, scorned her, despised her. Her heart had nearly gone cold. It wasn't her fault; it wasn't the capacity to love that she'd lacked, but the opportunity. And now, finally, here was this man who never pushed her away or treated her like a burden. Thus, almost from the very first hour, without yet quite realizing it, she had begun to love him.

If Erik had known any of this, his thoughts might have been more agreeably engaged. But unfortunately for him, he didn't, and so his mind was mired in gloomy thoughts.

When they arrived back at his apartment in Milan that evening he made up a bed for Costanza on the sofa, and left her there quite happily occupied in playing with her rabbit.

He needed to think, and so he did was he always did when he was uncertain: he turned to music. He went into his bedroom, shut the door, and began to play his violin. Sad and sweet, the music quieted the pain of his tortured heart, easing his fear, helping him reflect. At last his tangled thoughts began to straighten out. Finally he realized the truth: It was not the thought of having to look after Costanza that troubled him. No. Quite the opposite, in fact.

When he'd found that sad, shy little girl, when he'd rescued her from the Thenardiers, he'd felt his heart moved within him. Something new had come into his soul. Against his will, all the dormant affection within him had awoken and rushed towards towards her.

And that frightened him. More than he could express.

Because he was certain that anything this innocent and precious could never love him. He could keep her with him for now. He could pretend to be normal. But his dealings with Christine Daae had made him realize that sort of thing wasn't sustainable. Human beings had been the same way since the Garden of Eden: They couldn't leave a secret alone, no matter how dangerous it was. Someday, the little girl's curiosity would get the better of her. It was inevitable. She would demand to know.

Costanza would see his wretched, accursed face. That was as certain as death itself. And when she did, it would all be over. He would lose her. She would never want anything to do with him again. If she'd seen his face, she would never have come with him in the first place.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few days, a tentative trust developed between them. But it was an uneasy trust, because his mask still maintained a wall between them. He knew Costanza had never ceased to wonder why he wore it. He could see it in her eyes (and in addition, of course, she'd asked him about it at least once a day, despite the fact that he invariably told her to never bring it up again.)

A few days later, early in the morning, before the sky was light, he'd been in his bedroom tuning one of his violins. He tried to do it softly without waking Costanza.

But as it turned out, that was useless. The little girl seemed to observe the sleeping habits of a wild animal. She woke when she pleased, without regard to any kind of schedule. This morning, she had already been up for hours. And she'd decided to come in search of him.

As he finished tightening the last string, Erik heard someone turning the door handle.

"Just a moment," he called, reaching for his mask.

A moment later, to his horror, he saw the door began to open. Panic exploded through his brain. He'd been sure to lock the door, but it must not have caught. He dived toward it, but before he'd made it even halfway across the room, it opened and a band of light fell across him. In a last, desperate attempted to hide himself, he clasped his hands protectively over his face, knocking his violin to the floor and smashing its neck in the process.

But it was all for nothing. Costanza had already seen him.

He watched, devastated, as the little girl shrank back. In her eyes he saw disgust and horror.

Something inside of him seemed to crumple up and die. A horrible cry, almost a shriek, tore from his mouth. "Get out!" he screamed, in a tortured voice that didn't sound like his own- a voice that barely even sounded human. "Are you satisfied? See what you've done?"

She turned and stumbled blindly out of the room. He heard her sobbing as she went.

Erik slammed the door behind her. Shaking, he collapsed into a chair.

It was over.

A few minutes later he emerged from the room. By then he'd resumed his mask - both the fabric one he wore to hide his distorted face and the aura of frosty dignity he'd adopted to disguise his fragile heart. He needed it. Because he'd reached a decision and he feared it was going to tear him apart.

He found Costanza huddled on a sofa, curled up like a frightened puppy.

Going up to her, he folded his arms, drawing his cloak around him, and stared down at her imperiously.

She returned his gaze silently, with tears in her eyes.

"I have an announcement," he said in a cold, almost clerical voice. "You shall be going away to school."

She turned away from him and continued to cry.

 _End of Chapter 4._


	5. Chapter 5

It would have been impossible, of course, for Erik to go and enroll Costanza at any school in person. No respectable establishment would have done business with a man in a mask. He'd been obliged, therefore, to enlist Madame Giry's help. She'd been astonished by his letter explaining the situation, of course- astonished that in the space of six months the man who had been certain he'd be alone forever had almost magically acquired the responsibility of a child. However, she replied with an admirable degree of composure, pledging to offer whatever help she could give. That was all she would say, however. Whatever additional thoughts she had on the matter had been left for Erik to imagine.

Together, they agreed on a school near the French border, so the good lady would not have to travel far. It was situated in a pleasant, airy town, called M-, situated in the mountains with plenty of fresh air, but not too cold. The daughters of many aristocrats and diplomats were educated there.

It was expensive, but Erik didn't mind- he wanted the best for Costanza. The money he'd blackmailed Andre and Firmin into giving him over the years, most of which he had never touched, would be more than sufficient to pay the fees. He felt an unexpected twinge of guilt at the recollection that he had never returned any of it. Still, at least this, educating a deserving young child, was a better cause than Andre and Firmin would have put it towards. He'd become familiar enough with their habits over the years to know they would have squandered most of it on brothels and alcohol.

Erik and Madame Giry had resolved to meet in the town with Costanza later that week. There, she would take the little girl on to the school, while Erik returned to Milan alone. He wasn't sure how he would remain undetected by suspicious, prying eyes. However, he wasn't sure he cared anymore. The brief flicker of interest in life that he had felt after Costanza's arrival had been extinguished once more. These thoughts, and similar, occupied Erik's mind from Milan all the way to the border. He didn't know what Costanza was thinking. She'd relapsed into her old habits, and hadn't said a word the entire trip.

When they reached the town of M-, he stopped a few yards away from the school, hoping Madame Giry would appear soon, and taking the opportunity to examine the building. It was clean and pleasant-looking, a vast, wide-windowed white house with flowers growing over the walls. Thick walls separated it from the street, keeping away intruders. He could hear the sound of childish laughter coming from inside.

 _Good,_ he thought; _It looks respectable._ He realized that over the past few days a strange transformation had come over him. He had never, not once in his life, not for one solitary instant, cared about things being respectable. No one had ever stopped to ask themselves whether anything he had been exposed to was respectable! But seeing this wide-eyed, helpless child had awoken him to that concern. Perhaps it was because her situation- alone, orphaned, friendless- was, in many ways, similar to what his had been. He could not help but want to shield her from the sort of horrors he'd been subjected to, and the realization that he could astounded and thrilled him. How far he had come!

Still, his throat tightened at the realization that after this, he would never see Costanza in person again. He probably wouldn't even write to her. She wouldn't want to hear from him. He was sure she wouldn't ever write to him, even once she knew how.

As they came to a stop on the sidewalk, he cleared his throat.

"This is the place. My, er-" He paused. There was no word for Madame Giry's relation to him. "My friend will be here soon."

"Oh." Costanza said expressionlessly, speaking for the first time. She eyed the school. "It looks pretty," she said.

"Yes," he said. "It's just what you need. You shall be out of harm's way." Safe behind thick walls, like he'd always wished he was as a child. "You will receive an excellent education. And there will be other children to keep you company."

"Do I really have to live here all the time?" she said.

"Yes, naturally. I thought that would be apparent. It is a boarding school, after all. What's the matter? Don't you think it looks nice?"

"Yes," she said meekly. But then, to his horror, tears filled her eyes.

"What is it?" he said.

"I thought I was going to stay with you," she said through sobs. It was more words than she'd spoken in all the past few weeks put together. "I want to stay with you."

Erik froze as though he'd gotten an electric shock. "What? No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. I want to stay with you forever and ever."

"Why would you want such a thing?" he said in an astonished voice. "Why would you want to be with me?"

"Because you saved me from the Tempestas. And you're the only person who don't shout at me. And most of all because I loved the music you were playing. It was so beautiful it made me sad. but in a nice way. I want you to teach me that song. I want to learn to play music like you do. I thought you could be like a Papa to me."

 _Chapter 5 to be continued_


	6. Chapter 6

Erik stood as though transfixed.

No one and nothing in his life had ever wanted him. He had never been loved by anyone. For thirty-five years he had been alone in the world. He had never been anyone's brother, father, lover, husband, or even friend. His parents had left him only a far-off memory, which he had done his best to extinguish. The tender emotions of childhood, if he'd ever experienced them, had fallen into an abyss.  
"I don't want to go," Costanza said, her voice quivering.

He held up a hand. "Don't speak. I'm thinking."

He at last admitted something to himself, something he'd been denying for days. He'd kept telling himself she was an inconvenience. But in fact, he didn't want to ever be parted from her.

Could affection finally have found him at this late hour? Was it possible?

Well, he was willing to find out.

Slowly he turned away from the school.

"Are we going home?" Costanza cried.

He didn't say anything, just smiled down at her.

She was so happy she started jumping up and down. Then, to his astonishment, she threw her arms around him. She held him so tightly that it took him five minutes to prize her loose.

On the journey home, Erik's mind whirled, full of new purpose, new plans. With a child by his side, who would ever guess that he was the notorious Ghost? He could pass himself off as a widower- injured in the war, perhaps- with an orphaned daughter. Invent a new identity for himself.  
People might easily believe it. Costanza's eyes were green like his.  
In a way he was very like a widower- he had lost the only woman he had ever had any feelings for. And Costanza was an orphan. In a way, the curious events of the last few days had made him into her father.

When they were settled at home again, every day Costanza laughed, chattered, and sang from daybreak to dusk. Without realizing it, she was becoming another being. Like all children, who resemble young shoots of the vine, which cling to everything, she had tried before to love; she had not succeeded. All had repulsed her. It is a sad thing to say, but even at her tender age, her heart was already grown cold. It was not her fault; it was not the faculty of loving that she lacked, but was the possibility. Soon, this man who did not push her away, who did not see her as a burden, no longer produced on her the effect of being frightening. Thus, almost from the very first day, all her sentient and thinking powers loved him.

Nature, a difference of over thirty years, had set a profound gulf between Erik and Costanza. Destiny filled in this gulf. It united these two lives, differing in age but alike in sorrow. One, in fact, completed the other. Costanza's instinct sought a father, as Erik's instinct sought the child he had never had and didn't even know he wanted. When these two souls perceived each other, they recognized each other as necessary to each other, and embraced one another closely.  
Erik undertook to instruct her in music and teach her to read. Sometimes, as he helped her sound out words, he remembered that it was with the idea of doing evil that he had learned to read. This idea had ended in teaching a child. He felt in this a premeditation from on high and became absorbed in reverie, smiling the pensive smile of the angels. Indeed he was closer now to the divine than he had ever been when he played the role of Angel of Music to Christine Daae's unsuspecting heart. And over time the loneliness and pain of losing Christine began, slowly but surely, to fade.  
To educate Costanza and watch over her constituted the whole of his existence. She had decided to call him Papa and he could not dissuade her from it. Soon he did not want to.  
He could spend hours listening to her prattle. Life, henceforth, appeared to him to be full of interest; humanity seemed to him just and even good. He saw a whole future stretching out before him, illuminated by Costanza as by a charming light. He protected her, and she strengthened him. Who could have guessed that their tragedies could come to such a happy conclusion?  
For the first time in his whole existence, he looked forward to the years ahead. For the first time, he hoped to live a long life.

 _End of Chapter 6._


	7. Chapter 7

Erik had thought Madame Giry would be upset to have come so far for nothing. She was slightly irritated at the wasted journey. But she wasn't angry at him for deciding to keep Costanza. Quite the opposite. She sensed almost instinctively how good they would be for each other.

Every few weeks she would receive a letter from him enthusing over Costanza's progress, what a clever, kind, excellent child she was, how well she was progressing with her music. She was a gifted singer, an artist, a budding pianist and violinist. She read Moliere and was even starting to write poems.

For years things went on in this happy way.

But nothing can stay the same forever.

Late one night, she received an unexpected telephone call.

"Erik?" she said in surprise.

Miles away in Milan, Erik frantically clutched the telephone receiver. "Madame, I must speak with you. I need guidance. I have a confession to make."

"Then go find a priest." Her voice was sharp. "If you can find any that are awake. It's twelve-forty at night."

"I apologize for the lateness of the hour," he said in a rush. "Costanza only just went to sleep. She turned twelve and suddenly I can no longer convince her to observe a reasonable bedtime."

Madame Giry's voice softened a little. "A common predicament for the parents of children that age."

If he was surprised by her choice of the word 'parent', he didn't show it. "Besides, this is a matter I can relate to no one but you. I need your help. It is urgent."

"What is it? Are you well?" she asked, her sleepiness banished and replaced by concern.

"I hardly know," he said dizzily.

"Great Heavens, what happened?"

"You know that for years I have endeavored to live a peaceful life," he began. "I have not stolen. I will not do violence to anyone. And for years I have been successful. I have not wanted to hurt anyone. It is largely because of Costanza. I must live as I wish to see her live. She inspires me to do right."

"Yes."

"But today I started thinking things- dreadful acts of violence that…"

"What on earth are you talking of?" she said.

"I'm not explaining well," he said, flustered. "I must go further back. It's to do with my little Costanza."

"Oh?"

"You see, there's another school next door to where Costanza and I live," he said. "It's a school for persons of the... male gender."

"Oh," Madame Giry said in a different voice. The picture was starting to become clearer. "I see."

"Whoever came up with that arrangement should be guillotined," Erik said severely.

"I understand."

"The older boys are allowed to go out into the streets nearby after their classes," he said. "And sometimes Costanza goes out there in the morning to buy bread for our breakfast." He paused. "I should never have let her begin doing so. I should have known she might have to... interact with a boy. But then, none of them ever bothered her before."

"Before?" Madame Giry said inquiringly.

"Yes," he said. "Lately there's been one that comes up to her." It sounded like he was talking about some intrusive species of animal. "Every day, the rascal."

"And he's been bothering her?" Madame Giry said sharply, surprised by how protective she felt of this girl she barely knew.

"Well, no, not exactly," Erik admitted. "But… she talks to him," he said with disgust. "I see them out the window as I write in my room."

"You spy on them," Madame Giry said wryly.

"I don't spy on them!" Erik cried.

"Oh, indeed?"

"Yes!" he said. "I had no reason to feel concerned. I didn't think anything of it at first. I assumed it was just a harmless friendship. But today he kissed her."

"So you _were_ watching her."

Erik missed the irony in her voice. "I saw him hand her a love letter." He paused. "In my rational mind, I know he's a perfectly harmless lad. He can't be more than twelve himself. He looked far more nervous than Costanza. He didn't mean any harm. I know that. But you see, I… Madame, I wanted to kill him! I really think I could have shot him on the spot! I could have strangled him with my bare hands! There, now do you see why I couldn't confide this matter to a stranger?"

"Erik-"

"-I thought I wasn't capable of such thoughts anymore," he went on. "It was something like what I thought the first time I saw the Vicomte de Chagny kiss Christine Daae, but this time my thoughts were infinitely more violent. I could just picture myself strangling that young man… And he's a child! An innocent child, Madame! I thought I could make myself into a good man but maybe de Chagny was right- what if I am nothing but a bloodthirsty monster? If so, if I am a danger to others, then I must go away and live somewhere on my own. I would have to… give my Costanza up." His voice nearly broke. "What would she think of me if she knew I was capable of such thoughts?"

As he finished this panicked speech, silence fell. And then, for several long moments, nothing came down the line to him but a peculiar gasping sound.

"Are you crying?" he asked, bewildered.

"No, no!" With difficulty, she caught her breath. "What you hear is the sound of laughter. It may be somewhat unfamiliar to you, but I thought you'd be able to recognize it-"

"-Madame!" he cried, appalled. "I don't see that the situation is anything to joke about!"

"Forgive me, Erik." She made a valiant effort to suppress her giggles. "I know you are frightened. But what you have just described is nothing to be afraid of. I am amused because it's precisely what any parent would feel."

"What? That cannot be so. Other people aren't... like me."

"Indeed it is true," she said. "It's perfectly ordinary. It would be more peculiar if you were not infuriated by the sight of a boy being… interested in Costanza."

"Really?" he said. "I cannot believe it."

"Yes," she assured him. "You have nothing to fear."

"Are you certain?"

"Entirely. Erik, you would never harm a child. I have known you longer than anyone. I know you are incapable of such a thing."

Her voice had such a note of confidence and decision in it that he was reassured. "Thank you, Madame," he said fervently.

She giggled. "Do you know what I wanted to do to the first boy I saw flirting with my little Meg? He was only about twelve too, but the tortures I came up with were a good deal more colorful than what you just described, I assure you. I won't relate my exact thoughts to you because it wouldn't be decent. But suffice it to say, the Spanish Inquisition couldn't have come up with anything more brutal."

"Ah." Erik almost smiled. "Well, then." He paused. "Thank you, Madame."

"Of course. I am delighted to help you and Costanza."

He hesitated.

"Is that all?" she inquired gently.

"Not quite. Madame?" he said at last.

"Yes?"

"Someday Costanza will fall in love. Some young fellow somewhere may very likely fall in love with her. She may want to get married."

"Yes," Madame Giry agreed. "She very likely will."

"I don't know how I could bear to lose her," he said.

"You shall never lose her."

"But there can't be another person on this earth besides her who could stand to have... _me_ around. Her case is special."  
"Erik, she would never accept a man who would shun her Papa, I assure you. I don't know her very well, but I know enough to be assured of that. And you don't have to take my word for it - ask her yourself."

"Does she really think of me as a father?" he asked anxiously. "She calls me Papa, but is it just in name only?"

"Of course you are her father." Madame Giry's voice was infinitely reassuring. "In every way that matters."

"Thank you." This time Erik smiled for real. "I am grateful you for your council. I won't take up any more of your time. Good night, Madame."

"Good night, Erik."

 _The End._


End file.
